


The Tortured One

by Pendles_is_friendles



Series: Alls the Thralls [14]
Category: Battleborn (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Gen, Suffering, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pendles_is_friendles/pseuds/Pendles_is_friendles
Summary: The first mission of the Thrall proves difficult on a mysterious fiery planet infested with the Varelsi and the void-afflicted inhabitants.  Dangers abound in the volcanic rifts and caustic air as the small team seeks to complete their mission.  Unfortunately, even light-years away from Tempest, Torque finds that he's still one of the least popular of his kind.
Series: Alls the Thralls [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1236143
Kudos: 1





	1. Outside Looking In

The Tortured One (Part 1)

The black dirt between the cloves of his hooves was unnaturally soft, Torque concluded. It did not take much to leave a distinct print or scratch a line in and the jagged rocks mixed in scratched at the bottom of his foot. No, he did not like it; Torque much preferred the sterile tiling of the Imperium research labs or even the smooth, metallic surface of the thrall’s barracks. His exposed skin prickled and burned, but he was not sure from what. Everywhere he looked, the dark sky showed no sign of daybreak, no sun to heat the air or warm his skin. Only the dull orange glow that peeked from the dark rock and diffused in the smoky air lit their way. He had only just set hoof on the wretched moon of S6-0-96, and Torque already wanted to go back home to Tempest.

Torque’s companions grumbled as they scratched at the tight clothing provided for this first test of their capabilities, their sweat turning into ink as the ash clung to their skin. Their mission was a simple one: secure this moon for the glory of the Empress and the Jennerit Empire from the Varelsi and the filthy natives. The handful of gunners clutched their guns to their chest, snapping their jaws and kicking out their hooves at the primals trying their best to steal the shiny new toys. When one had snagged the base of Torque’s axe, he yanked it back with a growl and tossed his unfortunate litter mate aside. Without the masters around, it was up to them to figure out how to best tackle the journey ahead of them. 

Hacking and coughing as the heavy air itself burned his lungs and exposed mouth, Torque carefully stretched the rubber loops of the thin mask provided to him over his curled horns. Unlike the others, who could just slide it down, his got caught on the sweeping curve just past the tips. His head pounding from the tension pulling his horns together, Torque snarled as he fought with the dumb thing. Whispers flowed through the rabble around him, the unfettered snickering at the expense of the “master’s pet” and “stupid beast” passing from drooling thrall to drooling thrall with ease. A familiar wave of hatred melded with the burning in Torque’s chest, it seems even here he could not get away from their taunting.

“We need to move. That comm relay ain’t goin’ to build itself, yeah?” Gex stated before clicking his tongue to draw his assigned Primals to him. Lifting his lips, he gave a sharp chuff in their direction. All five pairs of eyes and horns turned to stare at Gex and then to the pile of crates full of electronics, ammo and medical supplies that he pointed to. With only a minor scuffle of drool and barks to determine who would be first, the excited group abandoned their scrabble for the guns and axes of their brothers and gathered up their payload instead. Wavering on their hooves, they struggled with the cumbersome boxes, unused to the gait of their brothers. But, the primals’ purr could not be mistaken. Gex’s nail tapped his horn as he scanned their surroundings for a good path. The sharp, unnatural looking spire that broke the horizon seemed promising. Holding his head high, he barked to the rest of their troupe, “protect the pack. We’ll make camp just outside the city.”

When Torque started to turn to keep pace to protect their flanks, Scar shouldered him aside. “You take rear, pet.” Offended, Torque could only huff, knowing better than to retaliate. That was a fight he could not win. 

Torque hung his head, gritting his teeth in frustration. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Skulking to the back, he kept his distance from the rest of the pack. He tried to pay no attention to the fact that the others chatted to each other, passing jokes he did not get and sharing stories he did not understand. Instead, he kept his eyes peeled on the cracked rocks around them and the oozing orange lava seeping from them. Their enemies were dark and their bodies twisted, they would blend perfectly here if they did not sport the white masks on their faces. Breathing in, the thin fabric of the mask stuck to his nostrils, the wet, weight of his own trapped breath did nothing to help him detect anything that could be around them. 

They could already be surrounded. 

Blinking away the stinging tears from the hot, caustic air, Torque dug his fingers under the collar of his shirt to try and cool off, to no avail. Even his hooves burned against the searing dirt the further they plodded on. 

Commotion broke out ahead of him as one of the crates spilt out of the Primal’s hands. Precious supplies scattered and bounced between their hooves and several thrall scrambled to catch errant health capsules before they fell into the crevices around them. One gunner yelped as his hoof caught a rock as he gave chase and he disappeared over the edge into the lava. Torque tore his gaze away, but he could not block out his brother’s screams. His stomach turned. 

More Primals abandoned their crates to tend to their wounded brother; electronics sizzled as their sensitive electronics met the searing stone. Beating the ground with his staff, Gex snapped, “No, leave him! Get back!” All five paused to glance over to him again, panting heavily as they stayed in their places. Their leader’s eyes went to their burning brother, a whine forcing its way out before he glanced to the rest. Foaming spittle sprayed from his chin as he shook his head and dashed over the edge to help his fallen comrade. “N-no!” Gex’s staff clattered against the ground as he leapt over the turned crates to snatch up as many of the other four as he could. For his efforts, they struggled to wiggle free and one managed to bite his neck. Gex growled, shaking his head to get them to let go of his flesh.

But, the wound was worth it to save his pack from themselves. “No! Ya can’t do nothin’! We gotta keep goin’!” He squeezed them tighter in his arms to get the point across. 

Scar peeked over the edge, grimacing at the gruesome roasted corpses below. “Yeah, they’re toast,” he muttered, sauntering back to help collect their things. Bending over, he scooped up a health capsule that melted in his touch and sizzled when it met the ground again. “So’s our stuff, I think.”

Torque poked at a receiver with the pointed butt of his axe, lifting up a corner. The bottom of it tore away with little effort. “Agreed. What do we do?”

“Press on,” Gex stated, resting his chin on the flatter top of one of the Primal’s horns. “The master’s’ll still come fer us eventually, yeah? To see how good we did. If we’re dead, us thrall’ll probably be scrapped.”

The thought weighed on the group, hanging off of their shoulders. This might be their only shot, and it has gotten off on the wrong hoof. Scar raised his head. “Let’s get movin’ then! No sense in cryin’ over dead primals, let’s go.”

Sniffling, Gex bent over to set down his Primals. “Stay close, yeah?” he muttered as he pried one's jaws from his black horn. “No sense in losin’ more of you, all right?” The wet plap of one of their tongues against the side of his chin assured him that they understood. Or at least, he hoped that that is what it meant. Patting his head, he whispered, “good boys.”

Other than the muffled complaints of the Primals about the hot ground against their knuckles, the rest of the group plodded on in silence. Scar’s hooves slipped as he climbed uphill, figuring that he could put some space between the pack and the lava. Boulders crunched as they rolled and crashed down the hill, narrowly missing Torque’s left knee. “Oi! Watch it!”

“I’m watchin’!” Scar snapped back, turning his head to give Torque a challenging stare with his good eye. Torque dropped his gaze, to the delight of the smaller thrall. “Bloody prick.”

Scar led the pack through the scorched wilderness to the best of his ability. Though as exhaustion soaked each thrall to their bones and their pelts blistered from exposure, more of their number collapsed on the wayside. S6-0-96 had quickly turned into the squad’s personal hell. The star never rose, just the silhouettes of the moon’s parent planets and the clouds of smoke wandered across the sky. Without any form of comms device, it seemed they could have walked for days or weeks.

When they reached the cooler peak of the mountain, one of the Primals collapsed, panting in exhaustion. One of the others laid down beside him in protest, not wanting to crawl another foot. Gex frowned as he plopped down with them. “We should make camp, mate. Can’t battle like this.” Shaking his head, he fished out his canteen and bit off the top. “Just a few ‘ours of shut-eye should be all right.”

With a huff, Scar looked to the rest of the squad, many of which could not hide their tired nods. “Ugh, fine. We’ll rest. You,” he pointed a half-finger in the direction of one of the more eager-to-agree gunners. “Dole out the rations. Make sure everyone but the pet gets some. Bet he’s had plenty at home.”

Leaning against the knob of his axe and resting his chin on top of his arms, Torque stitched his brows in annoyance. Sleep nestled in his red eyelids, but frustration lifted his lip. He knew Scar knew differently. Even if Torque had been taken in by the researchers, the masters were not kind. Scar spent enough time under the knife as experimental augment after experimental augment failed to take, leaving him under the care of Torque to nurse him back to health. For some reason, he had taken a perverse joy in making the curled horned thrall suffer. Jealousy, Torque presumed. 

Even if he had been kept in the labs by a misguided researcher, Torque was no pet. He still worked, cleaning equipment, cleaning cages, feeding the other experiments… shoveling out those experiments’ corpses when the masters were through with them, one of which was all of their mother. An old, Tempestian Greyhorn mare who could not speak and could not even gesticulate like the primals. She was nothing more than a beast, which led credibility that, despite the fact that he could speak, he too was only a beast.

“You know some of that is meant for me, mate. I can’t fight if I’m starvin’,” he growled through his gritted tusks, lifting a finger as he made his point. “I don’t got to stay in the pile, but I got to keep my strength up too.”

Sparing a glance at the gathering of bodies behind them, many already tearing off their masks and opening the tubes of gruel to lick out the bland paste, Scar considered the idea. “Fine,” he spit out, motioning the gunner with the rations over. He snatched one and lobbed it at Torque’s axe blade near his hooves. “Ya happy?”

Lifting the axe to rest it onto his shoulder, Torque sighed as he bent down to reach for his dinner.

“Good. You know your place,” Scar chuckled, kicking some dirt over the tube. “Leave us, pet.”

A snarl ripped across Torque’s face under his mask as he snapped a glare at Scar’s back, his hearts boiling at the thought of snapping the half-of-a-thrall’s neck. Clawing up his ration with a generous dollop of dirt and rock, he held it close to his chest. He had his axe in hand, he could fell the jerk easily… but then the rest would join in and tear him limb from limb. It would not be wise to fight. Torque tore himself away from the thought, turning his back to the group and sauntering off to find some comfortable place to lay his head. 

An overhang held up by a twisted tree seemed like a good cover to the inexperienced soldier, at least he would not get rained on. Sliding himself underneath, he lay flat on his belly, both legs splayed out behind him. The grainy paste did little to satiate his growling stomach and the thick coating it left across his tongue stuck it to the roof of his mouth, but it would suffice. Tossing away the plastic, he let his eyes close and mumbled a desperate prayer to his star, Solus.

Please let me survive.


	2. Horrors of the Star Eaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exhausted party finds an ambush.

Sharp cutting pain smashing into his ankle greeted the sleeping Torque when the pack decided it was morning. Biting back his yelp, he tossed his head up smacking his generous crest into the protective rock above him. “Get up, ya lazy sod,” Gex growled, kicking dirt at Torque’s retreating hoof. The primal’s grunting could almost be confused for snickering, but Torque was pretty sure that they were not smart enough to laugh at him. Or were they? “We’re movin’ out. If y’re not wit’ us, we’re leavin’ you behind.”

Another cloud of ash billowed into Torque’s hiding hole before the scrape of Gex and his pack of primals’ hooves disappeared in the direction of their encampment. Assured that he was alone, Torque let out a restrained whine as he pushed himself out from under the rock and sat up. The air still stung his nostrils and eyes. He dared not rub his face, worried that it would let loose another waterfall of blood from his nostrils. Massaging his ankle, he noted that the swelling started setting in. The shallow shiver of his hoof persisted, no matter how hard he concentrated on holding it back. Grimacing, he slapped a palm onto the rock leaned the bulk of his weight on it to stand up on his good leg. Failing to hold back the pained lowing, he gingerly set down the injured leg, which held as he settled. At least, it did not seem broken, he thought with a sigh. Only Solus knew what the masters would do with a thrall that could not walk.

His head hung low and his axe hung over his shoulder, Torque ambled after the pack. Letting his hooves drag with each step, he made little effort to keep up. The chaotic scrapes of the primal’s palms and the mismatched prints of Scar’s hooves were more than easy to track and his nose could not miss the unmistakable stench of unwashed thrall. Disgusting. He never got why his brothers opted to never bathe. Even if the masters did not keep as close of an eye on the mines, it did not mean that one should accept the stink, Torque believed. 

Still, how many times had he found himself backed into a corner, accused of reeking of the master’s scent? Torque grumbled as he kicked a rock over the cliff to his side. It was best not to dwell on things that could not be changed; at least here they seemed less interested in teaming up to maul him as they did at home.

At the peak of the broken mountain, he grumbled to himself and slowed to a stop. His ankle ached and the others would not miss him. Even the masters would just assume he burned with the rest or that his brothers had finally torn him to shreds. Tired, golden eyes scanned the environment around him; the dark canyons spewing ash and lava and the twilit sky did not seem inviting, to say the least. Sighing, he took his first few ginger steps downhill when he heard unearthly screeching carrying on the caustic wind. Craning his neck, he spotted the several portals tearing themselves into the fabric of existence near the base of the mountain. One of Torque’s hearts leapt into his throat when one of the primals jumped into view to slam into a varelsi scaven.

Oh shit!

Despite his ankle, Torque charged down the hill, his axe at the ready. His mask sticking to his face, he hit the first varelsi he could find with the force of a full-speed Viper. The thick blade bit into its twisted body, the creatures mandibles squealing as its light extinguished in its chest. Torque barked. His hearts pounded between his horns, the rapid rise in adrenaline setting his whole soul ablaze. The next target had Gex’s throat clutched in one of its spindly hands, the other waving with arcane wisps of void collecting between its fingers. Primals struggled to yank it down, one trying its best to crunch through the rigid exoskeleton around its skinny waist. Hundreds of spikes peeked up from the ground under Gex’s hooves, ready to transform him into a horned pincushion.

The axe flew true. Gex fell to the ground across the eldritch nails the varelsi had summoned, their sharp sting forcing him to roll off of them. Blood trickled down his arms and poured from his back as he coughed, his nails tearing at the dismembered hand still clutched around his throat. Another hand grabbed his shoulder, dragging him up and onto his hooves. Just as it shoved him back from the horde, he breathed a sigh of relief that it was Torque, not another of those horrors. “Find cover!” Torque shouted over his shoulder. Back handing a skulk, he bent over to unstick his axe from the disintegrating defiler. “Get!”

Gex could only blink, the creeping ice across his flesh seeming to soak deep into his wounds. Teeth crunched into his hand as one of the primals started pulling him towards a small crevice in the rock that seemed protected. His head floating, he followed their lead without question. Once inside, his legs gave out under him. It would not hurt to rest for a minute.

Scar hissed in the channeler’s expressionless mask before slamming it down into the earth. Stomping a hoof into its back, he fired several shots into the back of its skull… or what he assumed was its skull. It clawed the ash as it gurgled, its body melting into the rock. A harsh chill penetrated his soul, his body freezing and twitching as the alpha scaven’s tentacle broke through his stomach without breaking through his flesh. Unable to move, the rifle fell out of his hand and clattered onto the ground. His vision started fading, the last thing he could see was one of his brothers torn apart by skulk, one of which danced with one of his horns clasped between its claws. Thunder roared, it’s proper, Jennerit-like voice still grating to Scar’s ears, “bloody abominations!” 

The void limb went limp, the end slipping from Scar’s torso onto his lap. His head fuzzy, something wet and cold sprayed against his exposed back. Strong arms scooped him up and slung him belly-down onto a meaty shoulder. All he could hear was the chitinous cracks of their enemies and the loud roar of the beastly thrall below him. Scar’s vision came into focus just enough to notice the curved green plating poking through the stretched shirt. Torque. 

Unceremoniously plopped down beside Gex, Scar immediately attempted to get back on his hooves to follow their hated saviour. But, his legs refused to move, the varelsi’s twisted venom, or whatever it was, working its magic. Snarling at the indignity of being pulled out of his first real fight by that wretched pet, Scar slammed his fist against the ground. Varelsi screams poured through the cave’s only entrance as the axe’s thirsty blade found its mark again, and again. 

Gex’s skin crawled. He whined as his entire body unable to stop shaking from the searing pain that seemed to soak in from every new orifice in his flesh. Wet tongues of his primal brothers lapped at the wounds, each sniffing and whining in the understanding that their help might not be enough. Unable at the moment to push them away, Gex let himself fall over onto his side in the hopes that it would bring him some relief while they desperately worked to help him.

What felt like an hour or more passed before another gunner flew in, falling face-first into the dusty ground. He scrambled up into a sitting position and backed into the furthest was as quick as he could. “What the fuck are those things?” he squealed, clasping Scar’s arm in his. “I was just–”

Scar shoved a palm in the gunner’s face and pushed him off of him. “It doesn’t matter what they were doin’,” he snapped at the terrified thrall, a sneer twisting his face. Jabbing a finger in the direction of the exit with enough force to shift his weight on his dead legs, he growled, “We’re supposed to be killin’ them, not him!” 

“B-but he—”

“He ain’t a real thrall!”

The dripping silhouette of Torque darkened the entryway, his heavy, growling breath pouring from his mask. He glanced from Scar to Gex to the terrified gunner before dropping his body down to rest. “All safe,” he reported, tearing off his mask and tossing it aside. Dried rivers of blood caked over his cracked lip from his blistered nostrils, his golden eyes bloodshot into a deep orange. The axe head resembled obsidian from the inky ichor of varelsi blood that coated it; Torque set it aside. Still winded, he performed another exhausted examination of the room. “We’re campin’ here. Anyone still got rations?”

With a nervous nod, the gunner produced a few tubes that he had pilfered from the stockpile from the rolled-up hem of his shirt. Scar’s lips lifted in disgust as he reached over to snatch them from him. 

“… good. Split it evenly and make sure the little ones get some.” Torque started to lay his body down onto his side, his eyes darkening as his haw started to draw across it. “They’eren’t injured and they’ll need their strength too.” Dropping his head into the dirt, he huffed. Battle was both thrilling… and terribly exhausting. He had lost count of the dead varelsi before he had even saved Scar. “I’m just.. goin’ to sleep fer a while. That rock wasn’t as comfortable as it looked…” Torque chuckled at his own joke, his voice barely a breath as it passed his tusks. His heavy eyelids finally closed, knowing that he would probably awaken much as he did earlier. Or worse, alone in this wasteland. 

No one caught the last few words that escaped Torque before sleep claimed him. With a disgusted grimace, Scar tore open one of the tubes before clicking his tongue against his teeth like he had seen Gex do. Four pairs of eyes and horns stared at him, one cocked quizzically in his direction. Scar pinched out a little bit of the paste and held it out to them. “’T’s food, stupid. Come and get it.”

The primals exchanged glances, some thrumming and others chuffing some incomprehensible message to each other. One returned to work on cleaning Gex’s wounds. Another sidled close to Scar, giving him suspicious glances as he snatched the offered treat. Drool dribbled down his maw and dripped into the dirt as he backed away. Scar was not his pack leader, he was not even second. With Gex out of commission, Torque seemed the perfect fit for the head of the pack. He had risked his neck to save them; to the primals, it seemed a fitting way to determine the pecking order. Once he took his bite, plastic and all, the primal handed off the tube to his brother to do the same. 

Scar side-eyed his gunner brother. With a huff, he tossed one of the tubes back to him. Inwardly, he had to admit that Torque was right: everyone would need their strength if the battles ahead were just as gruesome as this one. Tucking Gex’s tube into his shirt so the others would not steal it for themselves, Scar peeled down his mask and bit into the last remaining tube in his hand. Slowly chewing he plastic and swallowing down the nutrient-rich paste, he wondered what awaited them in the city they had seen. With the weight of their species on their shoulders, could their small number have a haresburra’s chance in a scalewolf den in succeeding?

Wiggling his mismatched cloves, he sighed again. At least the feeling had started dripping back into his legs, he hoped that by morning he would be able to march himself. Torque’s snores filled the small space, drowning out the constant sniffling and snorting of the primals. Eating the last bit of length of his ration, Scar also had to admit to himself that he should also rest: he could prove himself better than that pet in the morning.


	3. He Could Only Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They seek rest and only find horrors.

Not much could wake Torque from his battle-induced slumber. The pained groans of Gex as he turned in his sleep, clutching his shivering body into a tight fetal position did nothing to rouse him. Primals stirred, their eyes barely blinking open. One reached over to grab his brother and pulled him in closer for warmth; gobs of slobber sprinkled down his chin with every twitchy snore. Scar lay curled under their gunner brother, warm and safely protected from any danger should it rear its ugly head. Sniffling back to clear his sinuses, the gunner wiped his sticky, wet nose with his forearm. Choking on his own mucus, his eyelids fluttered open as he started coughing to clear his throat. Slowly blinking, he lifted his head from Scar’s shoulder. The soft glow of his milky eyes illuminated the small space, assuring his brothers were still snoozing nearby. Licking the back of his teeth, the painful weight of a full bladder pressed uncomfortably against Scar’s hip. Pushing himself off of the mangled thrall, he sauntered outside to relieve himself with a sleepy grumble.

Muffled moans choked. Bones snapped and cracked. Taut sinew stretched and slid against each other like a mass of mating snakes under his thick skin. Teeth gnashing, Gex tossed his head back and thrashed. Every blistered puncture wound wept rivers of impossible corruption over his shifting flesh. Black, bone-like claws tore through his fingers, the rapid pace of his hearts pounded through his splitting face. Hands gripped his dividing horns in manic desperation to keep the lengthening tips from puncturing his twisted snout. Voices, so many voices, whispered and screeched in his mind. They would not stop, the waves of varelsi pleas flooded his extinguishing soul.

They… were horrified. What is it that scared the horrors that lie beyond the veil?

Gex’s final thoughts faded into the shrieking cacophonies of otherworldly corruption, leaving only a hollow, twisted shell of his former self. Letting out a wretched screech, he slammed his gangly fists into the ground before bounding out after the gunner.

Panicked primals barked after their twisted warden, one shuffling over to Torque to shake him awake by the horn. Another slapped a palm against Scar’s back, its companion pointing out the door. Scar’s eyes snapped open, allowing him to see the strange frenzied varelsi sink its thorned teeth into the gunner’s neck. His scream caught in the blood bubbling down his throat, his arms weakly pushing away the beast. 

Scar froze, his arms slowly reaching out to pull the Primal close. He wiggled out of his grip, his leader was in trouble, why didn’t Scar see that? The Primal munched Scar’s hand, forcing him to recoil back into a hiss. Growling and barking to his brothers, he leapt outside to drag his leader off of their brother.

A scream finally tore through Torque’s heavy sleep, his plates flexing as his eyes flashed open. What was it now? Pushing himself up, he snagged his axe and dragged his sore body to deal with whatever was outside.

Once his eyes fell upon the half-eaten corpse of the gunner and the ripped chunk of flesh still hanging from Gex’s stretched jaws, Torque’s axe clattered at his hooves. Claws tore at the dirt, barely missing the flailing primal’s soft stomach. “Oi!” Torque roared, tackling the void beast off of his next meal. Gex struggled as Torque grappled with his once-teammate’s spindly limbs. His palms slipped on the moist shifting flesh of the beast as he failed to pin him. 

Torque’s solid fist collided with the monster’s mask, the skin crumbling under his rocky knuckles. Gex hissed, an unearthly squeal comprised of thousands of voices; his jaws clenching shut in the direction of Torque’s exposed throat. The monster slithered out from under Torque, its lengthened body coiled, preparing to strike. Lowering his head, Torque flexed his fingers.

The beast launched at him. Torque headbutted, their horns colliding and his thick, reinforced crest smashing the monster’s thin skull plating. Gex yowled, but found his head clasped between Torque’s palms. Gritting his teeth as claws raked his shoulders, Torque pushed his hands together against the monster’s skull. Primals nipped at Gex’s thrashing hooves. As the pressure built, Gex’s plating cracked revealing the slime-ridden grey matter within. Thousands of voices whined piteously, but Torque could only lift his lip into a twisted smirk.

Scar dry-heaved once the voices silenced into an intolerable crunch. Slowly, he poked his horned head out of the entrance to find Torque standing over the mangled corpses, his shoulders shaking in silent sobbing.. or was it laughter? 

Whining Primals scrambled towards Scare once they saw him standing just outside the cave entrance. His jaw hung open as he pushed back the tear, snot and drool covered primals behind him… just in case.

“I… really hated that guy,” Torque chortled under his breath, shaking his head as he brought a hand up to wipe the soot and viscera from his face. His mouth convulsed, unable to decide whether to pull itself into a giddy, crooked grin or to twist itself into a soul-crushing sob. Hot, crimson tears ran down his cheeks as he stared down at the blackened blood of his brother streaked across his brown palms… his once-brother. His gaze fell to the victim, the stark white of his freshly exposed rib cage and pink meat that clung to the translucent tissue strung between the bones were a stark reminder of just how dismal and grey this ashen planet really was. Torque’s thoughts slowed to a crawl, unable to process the magnitude of slaughtering his own flesh and blood. He could only laugh; an unhinged song of a broken soul that chilled Scar’s scarred hearts.

A sharp nip crunched Scar’s fingers and the tug of the lead primal backing towards the safety of the cave brought him to his senses. Maybe it was best to leave the pet to his devices… Though the bitter nickname sank into his belly like a shiv. Torque was no pet; he was a wild beast. One the disfigured thrall had found joy and solace in getting the entire pack to tormenting.

Cautiously stepping backwards, he herded the rest of the pack inside with both of his fluttering hands. Taking a quick glance around, he spotted a sizable boulder and dragged it in front of the entrance. Only a few more days and the masters would scour the planet for their pack. Scar slumped against the rocky wall, the rough rock scraping his skin. Burying his face in his hands, he found the thought of their rescue provided no hope; not with Torque’s deranged chuckling still filtering between the cracks of the rock. 

“Solus save us…” Scar muttered, shaking his head. A heavyweight laid across his lap, the worried crying heaved the primal’s chest. Another laid against his side, curling his arms and legs under him in a tight ball. Scar’s hand found rest on his back, automatically rubbing small circles into his skin without looking. His haunted eyes found the other two half-heartedly squabbling to be able to take the prime open spot on his other side. With a sigh, Scar opted to contort his body to lay his torso down in the spot, giving them more room to work with. “Rest up,” he mumbled, twisting his neck until his horns could lay across the ground. “Need to stay strong for just a few more days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I wrote about the scourge, a peculiar affliction brought on by the mix of the Aylan's natural mutating properties mixed with the Varelsi's mutagenic properties. This is also a turning point for Torque and a moment that forever haunts him. Torque, Gex and Scar (and the primals, and the gunners) were all of the same litter/experimental set. They grew up together, at least until the rest got taken away and Torque got left behind in the lab.


	4. A Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A real rest. Or a failed murder attempt is actually a hug that confuses the victim. Also, what are doors?

Hollow. Torque sat in the dust, staring down at the tarred puddle that was once Gex. Fatigue swarmed around his golden eyes, he lacked the strength to shuffle of the heavy weight of his scarred psyche from his shoulders. 

How could they survive this? If the Varelsi could turn them into thrall-eating rage monsters, how could they stand a chance? Torque could not shake away the cotton stuffed in his crest, slowing his thinking. Time stretched. He had lost track of the minutes, hours, and even days. With the dark shadows of the parent planets across the scant skies peeking through the toxic clouds choking out the star’s light, the constant reddish-grey left no markers to work from.

The cave’s rock shuffled aside. Torque cast an impassive, sidelong glance and the questioning face of one of the Primal’s stared back at him. His small nose gave a concerned wiggle before leaning farther forward on his knuckles to inspect their surroundings. With a sharp huff, he bounded out of their safe den to leap with both arms fully outstretched onto Torque. 

A startled hiss loosed from the bonecrusher’s throat, every muscle stiffening in anticipation of the primal enacting his revenge. Surely, he would attempt to tear Torque limb from limb. The primal held tight, loosely nipping at Torque’s shoulder with an affectionate growl. Three more stuck their horns out to check on their fearless leader, each one panting in the hot, ashen air. 

Scar’s narrowed eye gleamed from the darkness before using his hoof to goad the three to keep walking outside. His lips lifted into a sharp sneer as he caught the first whiff of rotting varelsi and thrall. “Ugh,” he coughed, trying to wave the offending stench away from his face. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah.” Torque pried the primal from his shoulder and dropped him beside him to rejoin his brothers. He shrugged. “Nowhere else to go.”

With a slow blink that could be heard, Scar stared at Torque in heavy contemplation. Despite the long stretch of time trapped in the darkened cave awaiting his possible death at the hands of the beast before him and deliberating of the possible ways to escape somewhat intact. Stress scattered his thoughts, the best he could come up with was to sic the primals on the pet that killed their master. Now that it had failed, Scar needed another plan.

Another blink tore his eye away from Torque to instead stare off into the far distance. Angular spires standing proud over the dull orange glow, the delicate architecture soothed the Tempest-born thrall. “Ya could’ve gone there.”

“I’m not stupid. Walkin’ into the enemy’s camp alone is suicide.” With a deep sigh, Torque got to his hooves and dusted the dirt clinging to his sweat-soaked shorts. His head hung low. “’Sides, what if the varesli came back? Got to protect the little ones.”

The primals all watched the conversation, their heavy breathing paused by Torque’s point. Opening his mouth, the one closest to Scar’s left hand gently crunched his remaining fingers. They needed to stay together, a point he needed to get across without words. 

“Ghh-fuck!” Scar recoiled, shaking away the spittle. Lips lifted into a snarl and his few plates shaking in frustration, he growled down to him. “Hnn, fine. Whatever. We can’t just sit here though. The masters won’t find us in the wilderness.”

Torque’s axe blade scraped against the ground as he bent down to pick it up by the end of the handle. A subtle shake of his head betrayed his misgivings. But when he unstuck his hoof from the malignant puddle of ink and meat, he realized that a death at the hands of the natives would be better than the other available option. He forced a grin; the way his cracked, bloodstained lip stretched over his jutting tusks gave it a feral quality that failed to inspire hope. “Fine, let’s move out then. Maybe they got food there?”

Both larger thrall dragged their hooves, Scar mimicking the other’s stooped posture. Somehow, the primals seemed unaffected by the dour mood, they would only hesitate to lift their head to sniff at the harsh air for something that resembled food, or a possible enemy nearby.

Without their masks, they had no protection from the flakes of ash that stuck to their teeth or the burning as the air flowed past their throats. Their hooves ached, the warmth emanating from the rocks did nothing to soothe them. The towers stretched into the sky as they approached. More and more seemed to spring up in the gothic forest, stretching for miles beyond the thick walls. Torque could almost believe he was back home if only the city was built high on platforms in the sky. 

The laboratory on Tempest called to him from behind the clouds and beyond the remaining stars. Scraping excrement from the experiment’s cages and being snubbed by his kind brought a sense of comfortable predictability. He could always look forward to the quiet moments of watching the bats gather in the tower ceiling or curling up in his too-small cot. A known danger was a safe risk, one that could be managed. 

Here, the corner of his eye twinged with every new corner turned. Where was the skittering swarm of void-ridden monstrosities that was sure to already have them surrounded? Every so often his gaze would fall to Scar’s lower back, where the alpha scaven’s tentacle had wiggled its way through his body without creating a wound. Torque’s hearts sank, a tightness in his chest that constricted itself around his throat. His mind echoed with the thousands of screams ripping through Gex’s throat, the gurgle of the gunner’s last choked breath, and that final crunch…

Torque grimaced. Forcing himself to focus on the city ahead, he tried not to imagine how Scar would look stretched, twisted, and trying to eat him. Would he have the strength to protect the little ones? The warmth emanating from the ground did nothing to assuage the sharp ache soaked in his hooves. He struggled to keep his heavy eyelids up as he trudged onwards.

He walked right into Scar, who had stopped before stepping onto the strange brickwork. Some of the primals sat down to poke at the road, dislodging some of the bricks with ease. “Finally, some civilization…” Scar sighed, accepting one of the offered stones. He inspected the glassy surface, intricate carvings catching his thumb. His nostrils flared, sending a small shake down his plates. “There’s got to be food close by too.”

“Thank Solus.” Torque spotted a lone, unlit building huddled in the shadow of the city. Its humble structure sagged under its own weight, the rafters poked through the shingled roof like the gunner’s ribs. Nudging Scar with an elbow and thumbing towards it, he asked, “maybe the mess hall’s in there?”

Scar recoiled from Torque, baring his teeth. “I think that ‘t’s called a kitchen out ‘ere.” Wiping off his arm where it was touched like the other had licked him instead, Scar huffed. The harsh growl in his stomach stole his hate-filled motivation. He let his shoulders drop as he headed towards the building and waved for the rest to follow. “But, ‘t’s worth a look. I’m starvin’.”

All six thrall stood outside of the door, scratching their horns. It did not open when they walked up and no keypad was embedded into the wall beside it. Only a simple round handle stuck out of the middle of the bevelled surface. One of the primals slapped his palms against the circular design, dragging the tips of his horns across it. Torque placed his hand across the primal’s face and pulled him back with a terse click of his tongue. “Not like home,” he reminded, wiping the drool onto his shirt. His eyes brightened when an idea struck him and he took a few steps back. “Out of the way everyone.”

The primals obeyed and took a seat under a nearby window. Scar rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest as he sidestepped back. It was better for the pet to test for traps, after all; even if he was doing all of the work. With a strained, gravelly roar that even made Scar wince at how painful the sound was, Torque charged forward, his curled horns and thick facial adornments reducing the primitive, pretty door into tiny, pretty splinters.

Torque coughed. Covering his mouth with his thick arm, he failed to block the sudden cloud of white and grey dust that shot into his face. The others slowly filed in behind him, huddled close together. Everywhere they looked, the low glow from their eyes cast across the low slung furniture in the cramped foyer. Shuffling through the doorways, keeping his head low to not hit his crest against the frame, Torque investigated the next room. Much like the first, the odd, short furnishings left much to be desired, but the familiar scent of meat and bread tugging on his growling stomach reminded him of the master’s lunches. If they were left out to dry and grow stale for a few weeks. 

Thrall could never be picky anyways. 

A tiny kitchen beckoned, half of the cabinet doors hanging from only one hinge to reveal the scant boxed offerings within. A clay bowl presented fruit, each one sprouting its tangled, thorned vines from their cores, their papery skin clung to the dried flesh without any sign of rot. Torque started digging through the cabinets, peeking at the non-standard writing printed on the outside. The mascots gleefully eating looked nothing like a thrall or Jennerit, the longer snout filled with rows of sharp teeth was covered in dark purple scales and flecked with grey, black and white. It almost seemed emaciated, despite the serpentine look of its arms and body. Shaking his head, he tore open the box and poured the contents into his mouth. He could only pray that the charcoal-tasting, crumbling bricks would not kill him. The others followed his lead, plucking out more boxes and tucking them under their arms. It was an unspoken, unanimous decision to find some place comfortable to sit and fill their bellies. 

Juggling his armful of boxes and his axe, Torque pressed his hoof into the soft mattress with a judgmental tilt of his head. It was soft, like the masters’ resting places, but it would have to do. He was unsure of where the others had opted to settle down together, but he knew he was not welcome. Shaking away the beckoned thoughts, he set his bounty across the blanket and crawled into bed. It buckled under his weight, but as the middle plunked against the floor, it held.

Tearing through the “food” until a small gut poked from under his tight shirt. He might as well have eaten bricks, but the full feeling and the comfortable bedding lulled him to the sweet embrace of sleep.


	5. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would going home be better?

The dried crust at the edges of Torque’s nostrils cracked as he struggled to clear his nose. He coughed, spitting out the thick wad of ash and blood infused mucus from his throat. Blinking, he turned over onto his side to let his consciousness trickle back in. Dust caught the dull red light streaming in from the window, a perpetual twilight that coated this planet. Despite the sagging mattress and crumpled blankets under him and the quiet peace of the morning, Torque could find little comfort in his predicament. 

Tell-tale scrapes of a dragged hoof echoed from the hallway just outside of the closed door. Torque huffed, turning away to ignore the scuffling of Scar hanging just outside. He was not ready. Gex’s mercy murder still weighed on his burning chest; deep angry welts complained from deep in his palms’ flesh. Flexing his fists, he groaned. Like it or not, he had to get up.

Empty boxes rattled as they fell to the floor, crumpling beneath Torque’s hooves as he sat up. Scratching at the back of his neck, he grunted as his stomach knotted from the night's ashen feast... or possibly guilt. If it were guilt, it was best crumpled up and shoved deep into the bowels of his gut to never be seen again. Grabbing the handle of his axe, he ambled out of the room, his head hanging low. 

"'Bout time." Arms crossed, Scar grimaced as he side-stepped to block Torque's exit. With a huff, he turned his blind eye to Torque and revealed a comms device between his thumb and forefinger. He tossed it. It bounced off Torque's chest and the crimson screen flickered to life as it landed in his palm. Torque could not hide the small gasp that escaped through his dropped jaw. Their salvation rested in his hand. "Been workin' on this all night." He shrugged. "Doesn't have any signal, but maybe if we can get up high, we can call the warship to come get us..."

Torque's eyes squinted as he stared off in the general direction of the looming city. "I think that could be arranged." Clasping the device in his large fist, he snapped his attention back to Scar. "We gotta get to the top of that city, mate. Just got to go in all nice and quiet like."

Scar baulked. "Don't be daft, we'll get swarmed before we get anywhere, mate. There's only a few of us."

"No. They don't know we're here to kill them. We just gotta act like those..." Torque turned his hand as he searched for the word. It hung on the tip of his tongue, he'd only seen them a few times in the labs... "Visitors. Just there to see the sights, yeah?"  
Running his jagged nail under his chin, Scar hummed in hesitation. "It's worth a try, I guess." He deflated, his half-horned head hanging almost as low as Torques. "Worst thin' that could happen is we all die, so... I guess there isn't much to lose."

After setting aside his axe against a nearby table. "No, there isn't. So, 't's worth a try."

Torque moved him to the side and out of his way with another pat to the shoulder. If it weren't for the pressing matter of their scant chances at survival, a quiet sense of private satisfaction would take root from being the one in charge. Soft snores and growls came from the drooling stack of Primals all splayed over each other in their pile. One had another's leg firmly between his jaws, the quiet crunch as he gnawed in his sleep. A crunch earne him a kick to the face, rousing him from his slumber. With a sleepy squeak, he gave his brother a snarl as he rubbed his cut nose. He gave Torque a placid stare. With a bark, he slapped his brothers to let them know that Torque was there. One bark turned to a flurry of fours as they disentangled from their pile. "Mornin' boys," Torque hummed as he leaned over to pat a couple on the side of their horns. A thick layer of drool and a harsh nip into the meaty pad of his thumb. "Ach!" Torque recoiled his hand with a hiss and shook it off. Letting it melt into a chuckle, he flicked the responsible one's crest. "Ya lot ready ta go home, yeah?"

The scramble intensified, their combined weight nearly toppling over the larger thrall with their excitement. Torque's delight waned when a sharp jab struck his back with the familiar growl of Scar's disapproval. He growled back: the Primals did not know better, they deserved some hope, at least. "Ransack the place. Clothes ta blend in, a sack of some sort ta hide our weapons, whatever food's left!" Torque barked the orders holding his head high. All four Primals froze, staring up to him with bright eyes before suddenly scurrying off to the four corners of the house to complete their new objectives. Wiggling his head from side to side, he sneered to Scar, "'T's a start, no? Stop bein' a stick in the master's arse."  
If there were no Jennerit around to hear him, Torque could say what he wanted.

"Whatever, just hurry up." Torque noted the worsening limp of Scar, a note of worry on his breath as he remembered cutting the Varelsi's tentacle out of his gut. Even now, the moment seemed to be a distant memory of years; but it was just the day before yesterday, wasn't it? "Gotta piss so you got a few minutes."

\--

Torque tugged on the restrictive shirt strapped across his chest with a disgusted sneer. The stench of rancid ink and sweat emanated from the crispy, dark fabric, he could only wipe off the granules of black dirt onto the similarily ill-fitting trousers. One of the Primals tugged on their shirt collar, threatening to tear the entire thing off. Another ambled towards Scar, his outfit crushed between the Primal's hands and soaking in the drippling saliva from his smiling maw.

Scrunching his nose, Scar snatched the outfit out of his hands and started donning the shirt over his under armour. On his thinner frame, lacking many of the normal thrall ornamentations, it fits comfortably. "It stinks..." he uttered, sniffing at his sleeve.  
"Like everythin' else on this planet. Hurry up."

Scar glared. But he grabbed the pants and struggled to get them over the numbed weight of his legs. If the city was populated, what good would he be when they inevitably turned on them in a fight? Who would believe a thrall was an interplanetary visitor? Once fitted, he could only survey the rest of their merry group. "This has gotta work...."

\--

Ash fluttered down from the skies, gathering across the tops of their crests and their horns. Axe hung over his shoulder and slowing his breathing in a vain effort to save his lungs from the harsh air, Torque stared up at the twisting towers and high arches that loomed before them. Their hooves found fewer loose stones as they drew close to the city, the even spacing began to remind Torque of the roads on Tempest. No wonder the Jennerit wanted this moon, he thought with a bitter pout.   
However, the looming sense of isolation grew heavier the closer they trudged to their goal. No one else travelled the road most travelled, no bustle of voices, carts, markets, nothing. The ash fluttered down in silence.

The gates hung open. Torque held out his arm to hold the others back. Sticking his head through the threshold, he found no one. Forgetting his ruse, he gripped his axe in both hands, every muscle down his neck tight. He poked his head into the nearest doorway.

An unoccupied chair lay on its side, panes of glass etched with regular scribbles scattered in pieces all around it. The desk faced a wide window, topped with other pieces of glass, these ones smooth and held upright.   
"No guard's on shift?" 

Torque jumped at Scar's voice; snapping his head around to glare at him. "No, there isn't..." he growled, turning away to continue his investigation. "Stay behind me."

Scar snarled but stayed behind to motion for the Primals to walk ahead of him as well. His legs struggled to lift their own weight with each step and with no signs of life, he started to relax. With no scent of food wafted in the air, no stench of animals or machinery. The locals must have abandoned the city. He slowed to a stop, eye squinting as he stared up to all of the dark windows far above him. Home. Resting an elbow against a parked cart, Scar took a moment to catch his breath. It gave out under him, the clattering of the pieces falling to his hooves echoed between the walls above him.

Something skittered from one window to the next. Scar opened his mouth to warn the others. Just as his voice squeezed past his throat, hundreds more poured from the buildings; their screeching voices and raking claws scraping the stone and Scar's flesh shattered the peace.

Roaring as the first monster raked its claws into his unprotected shoulder, Torque swung his head to smack it with the side of his curled horn. Sent scrambling, its long, grey limbs flailed as it hissed at him. Torque brought his axe down on its neck. No blood spilt from the still twitching body, only dark, tendrils wriggled from the stump like arcane worms. 

The Primals barked, each one hopping back from the encroaching horde. Torque swept his arm to scoop them all up against his chest and ran. 

Despite their protests, he could not stop. His axe swung to clear the path, the heavy blade cutting through the thin creatures with ease. Lungs burned. Muscles strained. Sweat stung the long scores across his shoulder. Blood dripped down his back.  
Kicking down a door, he found himself inside of a small space crammed with shelving and boxes. Tossing aside the Primals and his axe, he slid one of the heavier looking displays across the entrance to give them some breathing room.

"Fffuuccckkk...." he whined, still propping his back against the display to keep the door closed. Screeching scrapes and hard thuds of the creatures kicked back against him. Holding back his despair, he patted at the bag against his hip, finding the weight of the comms device still there. 

Another scrape inside made Torque jump, but he spotted the four dragging over a large rectangular machine. He reached out and grabbed it by the top, knocking it over to stand in his place. Every thud from outside made it inch forward, but it seemed to hold. Torque swallowed thickly, shoving past the Primals to search for their escape, or at least someplace to lay low. 

One thrall could not take on the horde outside. Not all at once. 

A bark came from behind another display case; the Primal responsible scratched at the handless door. Torque hopped over the case and pushed him out of the way. "'Scuse me..." Swinging his head, he smashed through it. The Primals leapt past, one rolling into the machines against the opening. 

Outside, the wretched screams of the monsters wailed through the walls. Torque shuddered. "Solus please let that hold..." he prayed under his breath as he gathered the Primals close. One elbowed the comms, making it bounce in its bag. With a huff, Torque glanced down before pulling it out and turning it back on. Holding it high above his head, he gave a sweep of the room with it.

Still no signal. 

They needed to get to high ground. 

"There's got to be a tower we can get to..." he muttered to no one. "... Somehow."

Pocketing it, he huffed. Snagging his axe, he swung it upwards. The Primals ducked as pieces of sharp ceiling showered over them, but Torque swung again. And again. Stonework gave away to flutters of ash. "Up. Jump up."

Torque leapt, slamming through the last vestiges of the roof. Hooves slammed down, Torque searched for his next objective. Four crashes rolled beside him, the slap of palms and thrall growls reassured it was his allies. Spying an odd lit window with a splash of green far above, he pointed upwards to guide the primals towards it. "Again. Up. Jump."

Crashing through the delicate glass fencing along the edge of the balcony, Torque tripped forward into the planters within. He huffed, unsure of why a planet of monsters would have something so... out-of-place, almost civilized. Shaking the branches and leaves from his horns, he kicked down the door to get farther into the building. Primals grunted, one plucking a playing-card-sized shard of glass from his palm before keeping pace with his brothers.

Finding no quick way up, Torque hacked through the ceiling again, ignoring the finery splayed across its surface. Now was not the time to appreciate the culture. Pulling himself up, his hooves scratched against the floor shattered floor. "Up. Follow."  
An arm shot out and caught Torque's horn, six claws dug into the painted coating as the other swiped at his chest. Torque yelped. But so did the beast as one of the primals bit down on its thin leg and yanked it back. The rest of the team piled onto it, reducing the monster to a pile of limbs and worms in moments. 

Scrapping skittered along the walls, scruffy, twisted faces peeking in through the windows. One balled its fist, its white face splitting as it roared. Spidery cracks exploded under its assault, fiery beady eyes locked onto Torque. "Move!"

They all charged through the wall in the opposite direction and raced down the hallway. "Stairs!" Torque grunted as he took the sharp turn towards their salvation. "Up!" Without slowing down, Torque rammed the door at the top of the winding stairs. One of the beasts toppled over the edge of the building into the void below. Winds whistled through Torque's horns, ash stuck to his exposed teeth. 

"Guard," he barked over the wind. Torque hated putting them in the line of fire, but only he could read the comms and speak to the thrall... or master... on the other end. They circled him, keeping their backs to him as they swiped and snapped at the monsters crawling over the edges of the building. Lifting the comms overhead, a laugh of relief escaped him.

Full triangles.

"Set rendezvous point to four units with rotation from the current location. Send coords."

A pained yelp and a splash of warmth ran across the back of Torque's legs. The primal struggled to unhook the creatures many claws from his side, trying to bite or gore their chest. Torque swung the blunt back of his axe against its skull as he pulled the primal to safety. Tossing his axe at another beast, he took the comms device between his teeth and scooped up the primals. With a huff, he leapt off the edge of the tower towards the street below. He kicked out at the building to put more distance between it and him.

Torque's ankle crunched as he landed. All around long, gnarled bodies rained down around him, many laying still where they landed. Before they moved, he bolted towards the gate, keeping the primals clutched close to his chest.  
Overhead, the clouds split open. The red underbelly of an Imperium rendezvous ship broke through the storm. A warp anchor pierced the earth just in time to sweep the last scraps of the scouting party into the ship. Torque knelt, spilling the primals at the feet of his master, Lady Argiope. Her disappointment in them burned at the back of his neck, but he dared not look up at her.

The steel adornments at the end of her dress slapped Torque's chin as she turned away. "Fire the cannons on that disgusting thing below us," she commanded the minions marching along beside her. "Exterminate those heathens for the glory of our Empress."

"As for it..." she sneered down to Torque. "Wash up and prepare to be sent back to the mines on Tempest. It isn't worth the fuel it took to rescue it."

Torque's gaze averted, even if he kept his head down. "Yes, mum. It will do as instructed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had worries about reposting this one since it is gonna be edited and reworked for "The Moonlit Path." But I wanted to preserve the Battleborn original version as well.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is important to me. It is the start of me designing Ayla and the Aylans that appear in my original works. It is the point that I got to show that Torque is redeemable and that a lot of his toxicity is the result of his horrible treatment. Lastly, it is some of the best writing I've done.


End file.
